Cristobal's Penance
by tcpanter
Summary: Captain Sanzo Cristobal fights to exterminate heresy upon a tribal world while struggling with the consequences of responsibility.


Xephon Carlucas tried coughing up the shard of stone stuck in his throat but succeeded only in coughing up the last of his blood. "No!" Captain Sanzo Cristobal had prayed to the Emperor that he would lose no men this day. He did not know how much more loss he could bare. "One already…" The Captain murmured as he gently let the body of his fallen comrade slide to the earth.

Heathen bodies lay thick about. The stone walls of the temple city were now darkened by flame and smoke. Those few heretics that had not already broken and fled lay choking their last in the press. Lasfire cut into their backs as the whooping warriors whooped their last. They had never seen tanks before and had fled in the face of them. Confusing the protruding commanders for the heads of the terrible beasts. But even so, resistance had grown with every inch taken by Cristobal's men.

The entire city was a temple but the cloister upon which their perverted faith was centred was something far more. Built from volcanic rock and mortared with the blood of sacrifice this great cathedral dominated the central precinct of the crumbling city. A rough cut ziggurat of pyramidical form. It was peppered with heretics who planned on giving their lives for it, and for the dark treasures within.

"To Cover!" Captain Sanzo shouted to his men as a hail of blasphemously consecrated shrapnel was hurled upon them by their foes. The cursed rock mined in these desecrated lands could not hope to pierce the silver and grey armour of the Ejercito Theologica, but it had a malicious sense of purpose that belied its inanimacy. His men raised their weapons and covered their throats but the shower passed harmlessly. The rune encrusted projectiles hurled by their enemies only serving to slow their march.

The Ejercito Theologica, or Hetanean Divine Legion, as the human soldiers of planet Hetannia were known, had almost gained the jagged causeway that served as an entrance to the depths of the cathedral. Leering sockets of long bleached skulls peered out amid rocks weeping with blood. The stink of the unclean lay heavy over the air. Hundreds of the heretics were felled with each passing second as Cristobal gave the order to take the causeway.

Thus far the enemy had been cowardly. Garbed only in the pelts of whatever witless beasts they had been able to catch and armed with only what nature could provide and heresy could corrupt. Cristobal ordered his units flamer forward under cover of the red roar of his lasguns. Forwards Into the mouth of the causeway and the darkness that lay beyond. There was a flash of the Emperors holy flame. Then the Pactmakers came.

Skin tarred in devils red. Teeth as yellow as the waxy skin of the dead. The whoops and howls of their peasant brethren were replaced by the growls of throats touched by the warp. Black iron and blood red showered its hot wrath upon Cristobal. A wicked blade scored with glowing symbols robbed a nearby soldier of his life. "2" Cristobal added to his tally even as he twisted from the path of a Pactmaker's blade.

Sanzo's laspistol ended the heathens journey as he drew his own blade. A nearby Pactmaker, transfixed with bones and fetishes of a most abominable sort, buried his axe into the chest of another of the Hetanneans. "3" Thought Sanzo.

Watching the witch blades of the Pactmaker thralls cut into his cohort greeted him with near tangible pain. These were not like the simple blades of the men above Sanzo thought. These were not forged by the artifice of Man but of demon, and they slew even the most pious of men without hesitation. No doubt damning their souls in the process.

Captain Cristobal showed the point to the nearest of the Pactmakers as a volley of shots from behind cleared the path ahead. It was carnage but the glinting silver of Hetannean helmets was thankfully rare in the tangled mess of corpses that lay at their feet. Cristobal spared a backwards glance to the bluff that overlooked the edge of the Pactmaker city. His eyes could make out nothing but the sense of cold and disquiet he felt was proof of his masters presence. The Ministers Penitent were watching. They were always watching. Sanzo thought as he gave the order to enter the tunnel.

"Slash."

"Splash."

"4" Cristobal noted. It pained him to see another dead. He fired wildly into the darkness. Then the darkness fired back. "6…7." He added. Each death prickling him with fear and foreboding despite the foreknowledge that he was nigh upon his goal. For the Ministers had ordained the death of this planet some days prior. It's inhabitants had been thought another harmless tribal society clinging to a planet of no significance. Until rumour had reached the Ministers of the resurfacing of a fragment of the Codex Avernum.

Of the demons known to the Ministers, one ranked worst among them. After all in a hierarchy of sin one must rest atop the others. In the Hetannean dialect of Old Gothic this prince among devils was called El Demonico, and the presence of the Pactmakers betrayed his influence. The Ministers Penitent crossed great gulfs of the universe, both material and immaterial, in their personal crusade. Those objects of their scorn that had made a mockery of their piety were to be hunted without respite. "Easy enough for the Astartes" thought Sanzo as he and his men were hacked at by the fruits of El Demonico's dark labour.

But the men and women of this world had been weak and lacked the acumen necessary to make deals with a devil. They had instead made pawns of themselves and brought the Ministers down upon them. Though none ministered to them at this moment save for Cristobal and his soldiers. His cuirass was now stained with blood, that of himself and the dozen lifeless bodies he trailed in his wake. The Pactmakers were beginning to see their folly now. They had traded away their souls for little more than trinkets and their dark benefactor was all the stronger for it. No doubt leaving them to their damnation while he plies his trade worlds away.

Another volley of lasgun fire chased away the darkness. More Hetanneans stormed the tunnel behind them even as the Pactmakers ahead began to break. Though their change of heart did nothing to stop them from felling another throng of Hetanneans. "Was that 9 now?" Sanzo Cristobal thought about losing count. About forgetting what the deaths of his brothers in arms meant to him. But there was no use in pretending. There never was.

Suddenly the light of Lasgun fire was not the only light to be seen. The glow of primitive torches guttered in the distance. This was the Cloister. The scanning equipment aboard the Act of Faith had revealed much of the internal structure of the cathedral before any Imperial boot had set down upon the unnamed planet. This battle was nearing its end though the worst was still to come.

A hastily tossed grenade reduced the picket of heathen defenders to ash. Then with his brothers at his side Cristobal charged into the main chamber. Rapiers flashed from left to right, stealing limbs from the fleeing as they ran. He had faced Pactmakers on a dozen worlds but never had they been so pathetic as the stunted imitations he now faced. Tribals clutched their throats and held in their viscera as the final push of the Ejercito Theologica broke them to their last. None remained who had the strength to turn Cristobal and his men from their prize.

The chamber was large and antediluvian. Whatever structure lay above was a much later addition. At the centre a lake, at the centre of the lake an island of craggy black rock. The latter bridging the former by rotted catwalks of twisted hair and brittle wood. Had they been forced to fight their way across many lives would have been lost in the attempt. But as it was, after the last of the Pactmakers were dissuaded from further combat by the lick of their guns Captain Cristobal crossed with impunity.

The way was lit by foul smelling torches burning the fat of sacrificed men but there was another light too. A single ray of natural light was allowed to snake its way down through a cracked passage in the ceiling. No doubt leading to the summit of this crude ziggurat. He may have been bleeding from a dozen places but Captain Sanzo Cristobal was finished. There lay upon this dismal island a plinth carved with greater artifice than anything he had known this planet to offer, and upon that plinth, as though held captive by a ray of light, lay a page from a book.

Only a single sliver mind you of a heretical tome that had brought entire worlds into supplication to the warp. Penned by the hand of a lesser bearer of the word but no lesser because of it. Cristobal shuddered to look upon it, unremarkable though it was. For with this pages presence was carried the power of its author. The Codex Avernum, penned by El Demonico himself. Detailing such dark treatises as the forging of pacts with the devils of the warp themselves.

Something deep inside stirred within the Captain as he thought of the book. A sibilant desire to claim the page. Something that told him deals could be brokered and power made his. Suddenly one of his men reached out to it. "Throne!" Thought the Captain. "At least it's an even number now." He thought as he buried his blade into the transfixed recruit. "Set the charges." He spoke without even looking. His men busied themselves in his wake as he started upon the winding course that would bring him back to the surface of this Emperor forsaken world.

Smoke and dust billowed miles into the sky when the charges were detonated. Chemical flame spurted through the cracks as section by section the ziggurat collapsed in upon itself carrying the stench of burning holy oils to the Imperial camp. The light of obsession had settled upon the brow of the Ministers Penitent. Their silver grey armour now marred with the blood of those whose repentance they sought to extract. This particular after battle ritual disgusted Captain Cristobal. "Repentance came not from the dead mans lips" thought he as he snaked past the hobbling wheels, and the racks and the packs of howling natives trapped in every stage of death. Little of value would be gleaned from their lips while the Ministers worked. "Pain first. Forgiveness later." Was their motto. But as any seasoned fighter serving beneath the Ministers knew, forgiveness never came.

"Victory is ours Minister. And all traces of the Pactmaker have been..." Offered the Captain.

"How many?" The Minister interrupted.

"Excuse me my lord?" Said Cristobal.

"How many?" Spoke the Minister, letting just a hint of the Astartes' great power slip into his tone.

Any sense of victory sloughed away and Captain Sanzo Cristobal hung his head as he answered.

"Ten. My Lord."

"Then kneel. Kneel and pray that you live long enough to once again know the Emperors forgiveness."

The Captain removed his pistol and blade. He removed his cuirass and tunic and baring his flesh to the heavens he got down on his knees and prayed. The Minister raised his great fist into the air and with an excruciating crack drew his flagellum across the exposed flesh of Captain Cristobal's back. The good Captains screams were equal in volume only to the volume of blood now running down his shoulders.

"One…" Counted the Minister.

The End

Seeing the dead filled him with pain but he knew that the real pain came after all the fighting was done.


End file.
